John Reade

The Wheat's Reward

Out of the ground I rose; the seed seemed dead,
But lo! a slim green arm pushed through the sod,
And by and by before my maker, God,
I stood full ripe. A voice cried: "Give us bread."
The wind of God went by; I bowed my head,
And one approached who held a curvéd knife,
And for the life of men he took my life,
And ever since by me are millions fed.
And then God spake these words: "O blessed weed,
The lowly sister of the lily proud,
Be thou my chosen messenger to shroud
The mystery of my Son, the Woman's seed.
Thou dreadest not the sacrificial knife—
Be thou to dying men the Bread of Life.